Tuesday, December 23, 2014

pre-c-section

Most women push babies out of their who who's. It's the way that God has designed us females. And it's really cool, albeit painful and gross. It wasn't until I was probably about 40 weeks pregnant with Blake that I watched some documentaries about natural childbirth, and I realized that there were options like a birth care center. Not impossible, but still, a little late in the game to change my hospital birth plan. A certain set of circumstances with Blake's birth, induction and epidural, led to an ultimate c-section. I was so devastated and traumatized. I was in labor for 30 hours, and I pushed for 3 hours. What can I say, the kid is stubborn! Since then I have come to terms with having a c-section for Blake. I have learned that it does not make me less of a mother because I didn't push him out of my who who. And he's a beautiful, healthy boy, so I have so much to be grateful for!

But I wanted this time to be different. I knew even before I was pregnant again that I wanted a VBAC. At my first doctor's appointment, I began discussing this with the doctors. They didn't even care to talk about it so soon, but they seemed supportive enough. So my "birth plan" this time around was to schedule my c-section at 41 weeks (which was the longest they would allow me to wait), and I just had to hope and pray that I went naturally before then to pursue my VBAC. No problem. My insurance deductible would restart Feb 1st, and I was to deliver Jan 9th at the latest.

Then in November, it all changed. I got a letter from my insurance stating that my plan was ending, effective Dec 31st, and I needed to apply for an "affordable" care act plan. WHAT?! Well, as some of you may have already experienced, those be some HIGH deductible plans! I don't have that kind of money. This was terrible news for me, but thankfully, I had a choice to schedule my c-section at 39 weeks, which is the traditional time that someone would schedule a repeat c-section. It was devastating, but it was a no brainer. Money talks, right? So December 26th c-section, it was.

The chances of going into labor before 39 weeks is slim, for someone who previously delivered, by force, at 41.5 weeks. But I certainly tried my best. As soon as I hit 37 weeks, I started trying natural induction methods. Nothing worked. Here I am, 3 days pre-c-section, and I am STILL pregnant and huge! I can't even wear my maternity shirts anymore; they have just become belly tops.

Anyway, as the days wore on, I started becoming more and more desperate to go into labor. I was ready to go outside and jog until my water broke. It became clear that this VBAC was insanely important to me. Was I tired of being pregnant? Did I really want Malcolm in my arms on Christmas morning? Yes, absolutely. But moreover than that, I just really want the experience of going into labor and pushing a baby out of my who who. Those of you who have done it might say, "Jess, believe me, it is painful! You aren't missing anything!" And those of you who have had c-sections may say, "Jess, the planned c-section is much less traumatic than the emergency c-section." And anyone might say, "Jess, it doesn't matter how your baby gets here, so long as you are holding your baby in the end!" I know all of these things. But this is my last baby. My last chance for feeling contractions. Screaming expletives. Knowing what it means to be ready to push. Pushing him out of my who who and having the experience of immediately holding him.

I didn't hold Blake for maybe eight hours or so after delivery. After many hours of epidural and anesthesia, I was a mess after my surgery. My whole body was shaking. Poor TJ was terrified. This c-section will be much less traumatic, I know. But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it coming down to this. I suppose some women are not meant to push babies out of their who whos. And I suppose, at this point, I have to accept that I am one of those women. Doesn't make me less of a mother, but it does mean that I will miss out on this very special experience. I am pretty heartbroken about it. Could still happen between now and the 26th, of course. But at this point, I am accepting the fact that it probably won't. And I will get over it, as soon as I am able to hold sweet Malcolm in my arms, and definitely by the time I start to heal from surgery and can get out of bed unassisted. But for now, I am sad, wondering why I can't manage to push a baby out of my who who like so many others can.

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

advent

The day after my dad died, I was taking the trash out, and there was a beautiful sunset. I'm not usually one to marvel at sunsets because I think they are generally overrated. But this sunset had the most beautiful pinks and purples, and it just seemed so big. I felt like God was showing me how big He is--that He is much bigger than my circumstances. For a moment, I felt comforted and, I don't know, like I had gotten a bit of perspective. I pictured the big tapestry of everyone in the world's lives. But then I said (out loud, I think), "But God, you took my dad away from me." And He said to me, "I am your dad." Again, I felt comfort for a moment. But I didn't want to talk about it anymore. So I ended the conversation and went inside.

About a week later, I was going to a doctor's visit, and it was that time of evening when, if you are driving westward, the sun is RIGHT in your eyes. I was blinded the whole way to the doctor's. But on the way home, I was being mooned. I had a perfect view of the moon the whole drive home. It was beautiful and clear and huge. And if it wasn't a full moon, it was pretty darn close. Blake loves the moon, so I have a new-found fondness for it. The moon makes me smile in ways it never did before. I cried the whole way home that evening because I felt like God was trying to be with me. He was like a boyfriend, trying to cheer me up with a beautiful bouquet of my favorite flowers. He was throwing rocks at my windows and holding a boombox on His shoulders, trying to get my attention. I accepted the bouquet and the serenade, but I told Him, "This doesn't change things between us. I'm not okay, and this still isn't fair."

All I could think for weeks, over and over, like a broken record, "It's not fair." I get it: God is the one who gives and takes away. God works for the good of those who love Him. But it wasn't fair. My dad was fine, right? He wasn't sick. He just had a bad cold, a few nosebleeds. I didn't understand why my dad could be suddenly gone after just a few nosebleeds.

In this season of advent, I am anticipating spending my first Christmas without my dad. We set up my dad's Christmas tree in my dad's house. We will wake up Christmas morning and not have to wait for my dad to wake before opening presents. I was really looking forward to decorating for Christmas because I was thinking it would make me more cheerful, but it's not helping too much. It's no beautiful sunset or clear moon for me.

But here we are, entering the time of year that we celebrate and thank God for coming to earth to be with us. I cannot celebrate the holy holiday of Christmas without fully believing that God my father came to earth to be with me. He is with me. And actually there's nothing fair about that, considering none of us deserve God's outpouring of love to us. This advent season, I can either numbly go through the traditions of decorating a Christmas tree, buying presents, and busying myself getting prepared for baby Malcolm's arrival. Or I can stop and rest in the truth that God is with me.

When my dad was intubated in the hospital, and they were trying to wake him from sedation, my dad was coughing a lot. He was moving around, but he wasn't very "with it" mentally. It scared the hell out of me because he's supposed to be the strong one, right? I sat by his side and held his hand, telling him that it was going to be alright. I picked up his legs when he would kick them off the side of the bed. I readjusted his blanket when it moved, and I put an extra blanket on him because he seemed to be cold. I talked to him about Blake and Malcolm. I told him how scared I was. It is so painful to see those images in my mind. And yet, after some time has passed, I have come to view these moments as holy moments. It was a gift to be there with my dad so that he wasn't alone.

Beautiful sunsets and clear moons can be holy. But not everything that's holy is peaceful. In the pain and tumult of my dad's final days, there was much holiness for me to experience. What makes a moment holy? When God is there. And God was surely there with me in my dad's final days. So though my dad is gone, and I miss him terribly, there is no other option than to celebrate God's presence this advent season (and always) because God our heavenly father is here.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Reprise

I used to be a poet. In fact, I was getting to be quite a good poet, and then... I don't know what happened. My feelings started getting too complex to write about. Heck, maybe I'm not a good poet! Ha! Anyway, when we moved to my Dad's house, I lost my poem book. Of course I had them typed and saved in multiple places, but for some reason, there was just one poem that I couldn't find anywhere. I was heartbroken because I loved this poem. This poem, entitled "Reprise," is a reprise (obviously) of a poem I had written about two years prior. I could write a novel about my misadventures of dating my college boyfriend, but to be brief, this is the very last poem I wrote about him. I wrote "Reprise" at the beginning of 2010--approximately five months after we broke up for the fourth time (yes, seriously). I never made a habit of posting my poetry online because I thought maybe someone would try to steal it and claim it as their own. But today, I make an exception because I am so thankful to have found my poetry book containing this gem. (It's a gem to me. Don't rain on my parade if you don't think it's a gem!)

Reprise

You believe that we were never friends,
and we were never dating.
So maybe I did imagine it all.
The scenes play over and over in my mind,
like a bad movie that you wish you had never seen.
I only kept watching because I wanted to see the ending.
I wanted to resolve this mess and rectify your wrongs,
but justification never came.

I loved you. Didn't I?
I took your hits of blame and control,
seeded with the weight of the hurt you carry,
always thinking I was waiting for you to heal.
And since I loved you enough to stick around
and be understanding of where you have been,
I thought that things would get better.
But redemption never came.

We never got better. We could never heal
from the ways you threw my pearls before the swine
time and time again.
And the damned thing is, I let you.
I handed them to you. It must be my fault.
People are supposed to learn from their mistakes
and grow stronger and wiser in time.
So I thought I was learning. I thought I was being refined.
But sanctification never came.

Maybe you were right.
We were never friends or dating
because after dating, I couldn't just be your friend.
And after being hurt, I couldn't truly be with you
because there were just too many walls.
Donc, le chagrin qui marque mon coeur--
le chagrin que j'ai apporté pour si longtemps--
il doit être tué.
Why? Because I can live without you.
And it's time I started resting in that truth
so that my restoration can come.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

my obituary for my dad

When I was really young, my dad drove a rusty truck. I was so embarrassed to be seen in it. As a six year old, if we were driving through the neighborhood, and I saw another kid on the street, I would duck so that no one would see me. Like many kids, I didn't understand money, so I wondered why we couldn't have certain things. I was soon told about how we had family in Vietnam, and we sent money to them every month. A little money to us can go a long way in a third world country. (Is that phrase PC? Sorry if it's not.) I learned that through the money we were sending to our family, my cousins were able to attend school, and my aunts and uncles were able to improve their homes. This changed my entire perspective on things, and it made me see that our sacrifice meant big things for our family.

My dad came to America after the Vietnam War ended. He was in the South Vietnamese army, and when they surrendered, it was completely mayhem. Soldiers were being sent to "reeducation" camps, and so, on a whim decision, my dad decided to jump on a boat and, then, on a plane. There were four planes going to different states, and the most popular destination was, of course, California. But the line for Pennsylvania was very short, so again, on a whim decision, my dad decided to go to PA. And that's the short story of how my dad landed here. By the way, in the mayhem following the South Vietnamese surrender, my dad took off his uniform. He came to this country, basically, in his underwear. He had absolutely nothing. Probably a rusty truck was not quite so embarrassing to him. After his death, we are now left with a home, a nice truck, and retirement accounts. Will there be any retirement account money left after we pay the hospital bills? Probably not. But my dad has come a long way since coming here in his underwear in 1975.

My dad had a lot of files for us to sort through after his death, Most of them were not his. My dad took care of his brother's and sister's families, so our home held all of their tax files, immigration papers, etc. When my dad found his family in Vietnam, over ten years after he had left, my dad signed up to have his youngest brother and his sister come to America. I was probably about three years old when that happened, and my uncle didn't come until I was maybe 16. It takes A LOT of paperwork and money to bring family over, but my dad handled all of it. He opened up our home for them to live until they got on their feet, and he found them jobs. My dad was no hero. He was not perfect, but he is highly regarded in our family because he took care of everyone.

My dad was never warm and friendly. He was not affectionate. I often say how I have daddy issues, and I believe that it is true, though perhaps a slight exaggeration compared to people who have serious daddy issues. But my dad always took care of us. Going to work every day, paying the bills, taking the trash out... these are the things that gave my dad his self-worth as a man. His presence is certainly missed in these areas, but the void that I feel is having that person to take care of me. I know, I'm an adult, and I'm married... but my dad was always there to call with a car issue or a home repair. He always said, "I don't have much. But if you ever need anything, you just have to ask."

When I went off to college, my dad was so upset that he bought himself a big TV. And the first time that he heard me say that I was going home, meaning college... he was very angry and said, "No, THIS is your home." I was his baby. TJ and I thought that we were mutually helping each other out when we moved in here, but now I can see that my dad was really helping us out, especially in the financial sense. But he liked taking care of us. It gave him purpose.

My dad was not perfect. He spent much of his life being depressed. And this was very hard on us as a family. But in his way, he consistently showed that he loved us. To me, he was rock steady. In his last few days, he was helpless, and it was really difficult and scary for me to see. I held his hand, and I told him it was going to be okay. But I was terrified. And I'm just so sad. I'm sad for the day when Blake doesn't look at a picture of my dad and say, "Pap." I'm sad for the day when my dad's voice isn't as clear in my mind. I'm sad that dad won't be here to meet Malcolm. I'm just so sad.

But we are his legacy now. He would want me to keep going and keep taking care of my family. When we were in the ER, he kept trying to make us leave because he was worried about Blake. So, all I can do is keep on keeping on. Ugh. I actually hate that phrase for some reason, but I'm using it now because my sentiments are basically fake. I mean, yes, I have to just keep going. Life keeps going. But I mostly feel like staying in bed. So I guess there's no neat and pretty way to end this blog post.

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

aftermath

There are few words to describe what it's like to see your dad in a casket being lowered into the ground. You just want to yell, "Stop! What are you doing? My dad is in there!" To see his body lying in a casket, and you wonder why he isn't waking up. To come home every day and see his truck on the street and think, "Oh, dad's home. No... he's not..." And the memory of watching him coughing up blood, moving around in his hospital bed while only half-conscious. I held his hand and tried to comfort him, and meanwhile, I needed someone to comfort me. I was so scared.

But the images that haunt me daily are the ones of Blake sitting on my dad's lap watching videos on the computer. Blake would go have time with Pap usually twice a day, and I was always encouraging him to go find Pap (aka leave me alone for a minute). I don't even know if Blake noticed Pap's absence because for a week or two before we went to the hospital, Blake would go knock on Pap's door, and I had to keep telling him to leave Pap alone because Pap was not feeling well. How can it be that a grandparent would be taken from such a young boy? Blake could make my dad smile like no one else in the world. I think he loved Blake more than anyone. Pap was one of Blake's first words.

I don't know what to say. Everyone keeps asking me, "How are you?" and I don't have an answer. I don't even know what people want to hear. Do they want to really hear all that I have to say? Do they want to hear how angry I am that my dad was taken from us so suddenly? Do they want to hear how overwhelmed I am when trying to figure out how to handle all of this financial stuff? Well, I don't feel like talking about it because it's just too much. That's why I had to type it now. So you don't have to ask, you can see it all here.

On my dad's death certificate, there were three causes of death. The first was my fault, the second was the hospital's, and the third, God's. I use the word fault on purpose, though I know that in the future, I will replace the word fault with other, more accurate words. I do not think my dad's death is "my fault," and yet, when you choose to take out someone's breathing tube and respiratory failure occurs... you feel responsible. Even though that's what he asked for in his living will. Eventually, I will feel more at peace and will call this my choice, and more accurately, his choice. And I use the words "God's fault" because I am angry at God for this. I'll get over it, but for now, that's how I feel. Might as well be honest because he already knows I feel that way. The cause of death that was God's fault, by the way, was metastatic blah blah blah carcinoma (cancer). I am not angry that my dad got cancer. I am only angry that he was taken from us so suddenly like that. The only cause of death that I will continue to use the word fault is pulmonary hemorrhage. That was the hospital's fault. Dad was perfectly conscious before he got his biopsy. The nurse called me to say he was getting the test done, and that Dad requested I bring him some toiletries from home. And I never got to speak to him ever again. Did Dad know there was a big risk in doing the biopsy? I sure as hell didn't. Doctor said, "It's easier to take tissue from the lungs than it is from the liver." Okay, but you killed my dad because you punctured his right lung. So it doesn't seem like it was easier to me!

Perhaps I am just rambling at this point. I have not had time to process my feelings due to all the funeral preparations of last week and just trying to get finances in order this week, even to things as simple as switching household bills into my name. Tonight while I was driving home from an appointment, there was a beautiful moon. I think I will have a special fondness for the moon for the rest of my life because Blake loves the moon so much. He gets so excited. On the drive home, I got to stare at the moon the entire time. It really was stunning. I told God that this didn't change things between us, that I am still angry, but I appreciate the kindness.

Oh, and another thing... there is no reason why I should have to "be strong." So don't tell me to. This period of grief should be spent grieving. Forget picking up toys, forget doing the dishes. I'm doing what I have to do to take care of my babies, but other than that, I should not have to be strong. I'm just a kid, aren't I? In the world, I know I have responsibilities and that this financial stuff has to get done. But even though I'm mad at God right now, it is (sometimes) comforting to me to remember that though I have lost my dad, God is still my father. And I don't have to do this all alone.

Monday, September 29, 2014

The Ugly C Word

I keep thinking about writing about my past week, but I don't have the words. Each time I try, I fall short because what words could there possibly be for the emotions behind bringing my dad to the hospital on Tuesday night and having him die on Sunday?

We took my dad to the ER on Tuesday evening because he had been lying in bed for about a week. He said he was constantly tired, dizzy, and without appetite. I forced him to go to the family doctor on Tuesday during the day, and she called later and said that his numbers were all wrong, and we had better take him now to the ER. Dad was in bed, so I knocked on the door, and he groaned.

"Dad, the doctor called and said we need to take you to the emergency room."
"Uhhh. Right now? Whyyy?"
"Dad, she said that your blood count is very low, and your liver enzymes are high. Don't you want to go to the hospital now, so that you can feel better sooner?"

Dad got up, and we took him to the ER. We were given a beeper with a number 37 on it. My dad was so confused that every time they called a number, he would stand up and say that it was our turn.

"100!"
"That's me!"
"No, Dad, we are number 37."
(A little later) "104!"
"That's me!"
"Dad, look at our beeper. It says 37."

This memory makes me laugh, although my dad was a very intelligent man, and when you think about how this was indicative that there was a health problem, it is a little less funny. Anyway, we get in to see the doctor, and the doctor suggests it might be liver disease. He takes blood tests, and he says that Dad will need a blood transfusion, and they will keep him overnight. Dad kept trying to get us to leave because he was worried about TJ going to work the next day and me picking up Blake. Eventually, we did go home before he got admitted to the hospital.

The next day (Wed.), I called the hospital to find out what was going on, and they said they were taking him for a CT scan of his lungs because Dad was saying he was short of breath. So when the test was over, Blake and I went in to see him. He was exhausted because they had him up all night with tests and things. So we only stayed for a few minutes. I told him I was going to let him rest, and we would come back in the evening. But when we arrived that evening, he was sleeping. I didn't want to wake him. We spoke to the doctor, and the third word out of his mouth was "oncology." I knew what that word meant, so before he even talked about the diagnosis, I knew what he was going to say. He told us that Dad had cancer in his liver and his lungs, as well as a few other health concerns. He did not know yet the extent of the damage and what treatments might be helpful, but he said we should talk with my dad about what measures he might want to take. When I got home, I had to make phone calls to my family that Dad has cancer.

On Thursday morning, I got a call that they were going to do a biopsy in the morning, so Blake and I were going to go to the library for playtime and head to the hospital afterward. On my way to the library, they called me to say that Dad had trouble breathing after his test and do I give permission to put in a breathing tube. My answer was YES YES YES! I turned the car around and headed to the hospital where my whole family was there waiting. Apparently the doctor had told my aunt that she better tell everyone to come because this might be it. My dad was in the ICU. He was sedated with a breathing tube. It was hard to see him, but he was peacefully sleeping at that time. The biopsy on his lung, where they had punctured to get some tissue out, made him bleed, and he couldn't breathe. He was coughing up a lot of blood (but not too much by the time I saw him). They said that the next step was to turn the sedation off in the morning and let him wake up so they could remove the breathing tube.

On Friday morning, they turned off sedation and told me that Dad would probably be awake by the afternoon. So I went in during the afternoon, but Dad was not awake. They said due to the damage in his liver, he would probably take a while to flush out the sedation meds. I was all alone on Friday, and it was terrifying to see Dad like that. He was coughing a lot, which sounded like vomiting. And he was moving around. It was on Friday that I just held his hand and talked to him a lot, trying to comfort him. He seemed so distressed. He opened his eyes a little, but he didn't focus them. There was one time that I was sure he was looking at me, and I said, "Dad, you know I love you, right?" And he nodded. That was the last two-way communication we had.

On Saturday morning, the doctor called me to say that Dad would have weeks to live at most, with the breathing tube or without. They were fairly certain he could breathe on his own, but they aren't allowed to take the tube out if Dad wasn't cognitively able to follow commands that they gave him (i.e. wiggle your toes, squeeze my hand). They said we needed to figure out when we would want to take the tube out, and in the event that he needed his heart restarted, would he really want that if he knew he would only live "weeks at most" more? These are not easy questions to answer. My dad has a living will that states he doesn't want to live on machines in the event of an incurable disease. Jason and I decided that Dad would not want to keep having this breathing tube and hydration machine sustaining his life. We didn't know if Dad would breathe on his own afterward, so we told all family who wanted to be there, they ought to say goodbye just in case. We were expecting that Dad might die that day, so my brother and I kind of made peace that day and said our goodbyes. There were many people there, which was really great. Dad tolerated the extubation, and when we left that evening, he was stable and breathing at 85%.

On Sunday morning, I called to check up on him, and they said that he was still stable, and they were going to move him out of the ICU. At this point, we knew it was just a waiting game for his death because of the decisions we had made. I chose not to go in that morning because sitting by his bedside was not comforting for him or for me. Dad was on high doses of morphine at that point, so he was sleeping peacefully and not aware of our presence. I was planning on stopping in after lunch time, so I called to check again at that point, and that is when the nurse told me he had just passed (probably a minute before my phone call). And it was weird. We were expecting it at any moment, and yet, when I called, I was expecting her to say there were no changes. And the weird thing about situations like this is that you kind of just want to curl up in a ball, but there are phone calls to be made. I made those phone calls, and TJ and I headed in to see him. Seeing my dad this time was much different because I didn't see his chest rise and fall. It was too hard, I only stayed in the room for a minute.

We went back home, and I cried myself to sleep thinking about how cruel this week had been. I can say without hesitation that I am at peace, given the circumstances, with the medical decisions that we made and the fact that he went so quickly. But why the hell did the circumstances have to be like that in the first place? A week ago, we were just at home wondering why Dad was sleeping all the time. And a week before that, Dad was up and moving, complaining that he was feeling sick. And a week before that, he was 100% normal, fully functioning.

So now I am left to handle the arrangements, figure out the financials (when the medical bills start rolling in), and sort through my dad's files and belongings. This is too much for someone to handle, especially a pregnant woman with a sick toddler. Shouldn't I just be grieving right now instead of being bombarded with questions and decisions? Doesn't anyone understand that in a whirlwind, I just lost my dad? I don't know what else to say or how to finish this post.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

It's a....



While I realize I never wrote the second installment about cloth diapering, I have something much more exciting to write about. At this point, the sex of our baby is probably old news, but it is very exciting to me! To preface, I should mention that I really wanted a girl this time around. We are planning for only two children, and I would love to have the experience of a mommy-daughter relationship. I do love having a boy though, so I wasn't necessarily set on either gender.

At the ultrasound, the tech was doing some of the more "boring" measurements of the baby since TJ was late getting there, and as she was measuring something and was zoomed out, I saw it. The thing. The determining factor. I didn't say anything, though, because I thought maybe, just maybe, I was wrong. But a few minutes later when TJ got there, the tech gave the verdict: it's a boy. Yep, I knew I saw a thing!

I felt a hint of disappointment, but it was, as always, a beautiful thing to see the baby that you are growing in your body on a screen. This child that you love but you don't know yet moving around. We even saw him rub his eyes and yawn! My love grew for him that day. And even though he is not a girl, I love knowing more about who he is. HE is the child God has gifted and entrusted to me. There are some things I may "miss out on" by not having a daughter, but there is something beautiful about picturing all the things we will experience raising two boys.

We found out the gender of the baby on a Tuesday, and we were having a gender reveal party with our friends on Friday, so I had to keep my big mouth shut for a few days. Luckily, I was able to get my energy out by telling family and some friends who don't live in the area. The party was a fun time (even though I forgot to serve dessert), and we did a dance to a Justin Bieber song, and then I lifted my shirt (halfway) to reveal a blue heart on my stomach. Most people had guessed it was a girl (probably because they knew that's what I was hoping for).

Anyway, I had picked a name for him, and TJ wasn't quite sure about it. But it grew him on, so we "tried it out" by calling the baby this name for a while, and it just feels right to me. So he has a name that I am in love with. :-) I am not publicizing the name, but some people know what it is. We just aren't publicizing it. Facebook has made it seem like everything is everyone's business, but I prefer to keep some things just for us.

Is Blake excited about having a baby brother? He will be, someday. For now he doesn't quite understand. He used to point to my belly when I asked where is the baby. But when I ask where is your baby brother, or where is baby _____, he doesn't respond. We're working on it.

I am excited to be the mother of two adorable and crazy boys. Our family is truly blessed, and I pray that this sweet boy would continue to grow stronger and healthier every day! And come before the end of the year... just kidding. But seriously.


Thursday, July 31, 2014

WHY I Cloth Diaper

There are many, many benefits to cloth diapering your babies. I always wanted to cloth diaper, but my mom scared me away from it because she had tried it with my brother and so many leaking problems. Well, folks, as my mom learned, cloth diapering has come a long way since then. She hates when I put Blake in disposables; she can't figure out how to put them on (don't ask me, I know it's quite simple). Anyway, I'm no expert on the topic, but I have been cloth diapering for nearly 18 months, and I have researched the various options many times over. Here are a few reasons I'm so thankful that I chose to cloth diaper my babies:

1. Cloth diapering is so cute. How cute are those bright colors and patterns? There are so many options! Especially if money isn't an issue for you. (Some people kind of go crazy with cloth diapers and buy "exclusive patterns" for $50 a pop or more! It's insane to me, but that's their choice. Not mine, for sure.)

2. Cloth diapering is green. If you don't care about disposable diapers sitting in a landfill for 100,000 years (which you should, but that's another story), consider the fact that disposable diapers contain lots of harsh chemicals that you put on your baby's bum. Blake has never had a problem with diaper rash because of cloth diapering. Plus we never had problems with blow out poops!

3. Cloth diapering is economical. For Blake, we use Best Bottoms, which I love, but if I could do it over again, I would choose something even more economical. So Blake has 4 Best Bottom covers, 17 hemp inserts, and 3 overnight doubler inserts. This cost approximately $186. I also bought cloth wipes, which I think cost maybe $30. The only other thing needed is a wet bag. I spent more than needed on wet bags, but I have a small one (for small trips), a medium (for a day trip), and two large hanging wetbags (to keep all for laundry day). Those probably ran me $100 total. So we are talking about a little more than $300. When I'm done using these with my two children, I will be able to sell them and get some of my money back. How much have you spent on your disposable diapers and your wipes? More on how to do cloth diapering in the most economical way coming soon...

4. Cloth diapering is easier and less gross than you think. I do two small loads of diaper laundry per week. It is definitely worth doing a little more laundry for the money I have saved. I don't really touch poop any more than you do. I wipe the bum, and then use a wipe or toilet paper to nudge the poop off the diaper and into the toilet. When Blake's poop was runny in the early days,  I snapped the diapers just like you fold over a poopy disposable (we were using pocket diapers at the time), and I just unsnapped them and put it in the washer on laundry day.

I love cloth diapering, and I am so thankful that I have chosen to do it. We don't struggle to afford diapers, and we never have to run to the store because we are low on diapers. I will soon be cloth diapering two babies. You may say it's impossible to cloth diaper when you have two or more in diapers, but isn't it even more worth it when you consider the cost of buying disposables for multiple children? I would rather spend a little more time doing laundry in my life so that we have a little extra money to do something fun together and so I have a little less financial struggle!

You may be thinking, "But I work full time," or "But I don't have a washer/dryer." Neither of these are factors in my life, so I can't speak to that. You have to make the right decision for you and your family, but I think so many people don't even consider cloth diapering as an option. And it is an option that would benefit so many families who are currently struggling with finances! So give it a thought. Don't automatically think that it's gross or impossible or too expensive or time consuming.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

a love song

You have changed me. From the moment I found out that you were growing inside of me, something changed. My body wasn't just about me anymore. When I felt you stirring and moving, I felt awestruck in a way that I have never experienced before. When I experienced aches and pains because you were getting big, I had to remind myself that you were going to be worth it. And you were. I waited a long time for you. You grew in my body and did not want to leave (and you are still attached to my hip!). I forced you out against your will and ended up with surgery. But you came out one way or another, and you cried a lot. You didn't sleep quite as much as a newborn was supposed to. And you continued to have sleeping issues for A LONG TIME. You made me more exhausted and more elated than I had ever been in my entire life.

I have seen beautiful things in this world in Paris, London, Rome, and Venice. But nothing compares to how beautiful you are. Your eyes are so bright and full of wonder. Your body is so tiny and cuddly. Your laugh is the most infectious thing. I wish I could bottle it up to reminisce on your graduation day and your wedding day. I wish I could bottle up your hugs and kisses to save for a day when you no longer want to be attached to my hip.

You have made my heart grow bigger. You have made me care about some things more and some things less. You have made me grow in respect for what I am capable of and what my body is capable of. Growing you and nourishing you with my breasts for the first 16 months of your life has been the most holy experience and has made me more in awe of God's design than ever before.

Seeing you run around the yard, putting puzzles together, climbing stairs all by yourself makes me realize time is moving too quickly. So I will let you nap on me until you get too impossibly heavy to accommodate.  I will welcome your distraction from my tasks so we can just enjoy giggling together. I will not be annoyed when you grab onto my leg when I am trying to do my Wii Fit exercise. I will not stress that you aren't talking yet because you are already growing up too quickly. I will not try to force you to "measure up" to the other kids your age because you move at your own pace, and you are your own person. I wouldn't want you to be anyone else. You beat to your own drum, just like your mom and dad.

Soon you will have a new brother or sister, and I will be busy taking care of the demands of a baby. But it will not lessen my love for you or my fierce desire to spend time with just you and me. It will never lessen, no matter how many "I hate you, Mom"s, "I am quitting college to be a musician"s, or "I don't want to raise my kids the same way you did"s that you may throw at me. This new brother or sister of yours might mean that we don't get quite as much time together just me and you. But you, along with your brother or sister, will be my most precious treasures, and I will always value you more than you may ever understand.


Thursday, May 29, 2014

here we go again...


I found out after the MS Walk that... I was pregnant. I told TJ before we looked at the results, "Either we are pregnant now, or I'm going on birth control." We went back and forth so many times about whether the timing was "good" or not. Apparently, this is the time God chose for us. We had just started trying! But according to my last period, I was 8 weeks pregnant already. Which was awesome. So I called the doctor and made an appointment right away and, also, signed up for an ultrasound because we just wanted to make sure about the due date because I had taken pregnancy tests that turned out negative when they should have been positive.

At the ultrasound, this is what I saw:
The ultrasound tech said I was only 5 weeks along. Which was disappointing. But then she scared the crap out of me by saying I needed to get another ultrasound in two weeks to make sure IF there's still an embryo. Uhh... IF?! So for two weeks, I was a mess. And part of me thought, well, maybe God DOESN'T think now is the right timing for another baby... I tried to relax, though. I have always had irregular periods, so it made sense that I was not as far along. My due date went from December 7th to (by my calculations) December 31st. 

After two weeks, I went back and saw this:
There's a little peanut in there! What a relief! She measured me at 6 weeks and 6 days. Which set me back even further! Peanut's new due date is January 2nd. Seriously, little one?! Don't know you anything about the importance of tax credits? ;-)

I was reassured during my two week anxious waiting period because I was having terrible nausea! It was awful. But it has not been bad for the past few days, which is great. I'm also having a lot of aversions, so the foods I have been eating has not always been the healthiest. Sandwiches, pastas, cheese. But I'm going to try my hardest to be healthier this time around, including lots of exercise!

Baby has already run two 5ks! 

On a different note, we have sent postcards to TJ's family with the first picture on this post (the math equation) as an announcement that we were expecting, and we never heard from anyone. And we gave the postcards out to my family at Mother's Day, and there wasn't much response. This is incredibly difficult for us because there is a lot of unknown in our life right now. TJ is looking for a new job, and we are currently living at my Dad's house (with, most likely, no option to stay because there's no room for another baby here.) Is that why we haven't heard a response? Because people think we made the wrong decision? I don't know. But Little Peanut is coming, and we could use the support. And we would like to celebrate! We haven't had much chance to celebrate, between the anxiousness of whether the second ultrasound would show progress or not and the lack of support from family. My friends are really happy for us, which is great. But family support is a whole different ballgame.

Have we wondered whether now is a good time or not? Well, who defines good timing? God does. Not me. So ready or not, here we go again... 

Friday, April 11, 2014

the big race

At the beginning of this year, I asked my brother to sign up for Philly's Hot Chocolate 15k race. It took 10 weeks of training, which was ALL INDOORS due to the weather and having a baby. And no, I don't have a treadmill. I ran in place. Seriously, I could jog in place forever. But when it came time for the race, I felt pretty unprepared. And terrified. I barely slept the night before because my heart wouldn't stop pounding. It was my first night ever without Blake, and it just figures that I didn't get to take advantage of sleeping through the night!

My brother and I started the race at the very end of the last group. This group was called "walkers," so we quickly passed by everyone in our group. After two miles, my brother ditched me, and I was left to pace for myself. The first five/six miles were easy, and then it started to get more difficult. Each mile marker seemed to get further and further away.


By the time that the running got more difficult, I stopped passing people and started to keep pace with the same group of people. There was a pregnant woman, an older woman, and an overweight man, among others. In my despair at the perceived extended length of mile 7-8 and 8-9, I started to feel bad about myself that these people could keep pace with me. Why couldn't I run faster? I'm not pregnant, old, OR overweight! But you know what "difficulty" I have? A weak mind. In fact, I almost bought a shirt to wear for the race that said "mind over matter" because THAT is what my struggle is. I had to overcome my mind that so easily wanted to make excuses about why I couldn't run the race that day and why I needed to walk instead of run. I had to tell myself that even if I didn't love where I was right now, it was where I was. So I might as well give it my all so that I don't have any regrets afterward. For me, that meant no walking. Even if it meant I ran really slowly when I needed to. And I did it.

The funny thing is that everyone was released in groups, and like I said earlier, we started at the very end of the last group. So the group I ended up keeping pace with, the pregnant woman, the older woman, and the overweight man, may have actually started their race 10 minutes before me. So while my mind is wandering with self-deprecating thoughts, these other runners may have actually had 10 more minutes on their clock than I did. Maybe and maybe not. I don't know what they were overcoming by running in that race. I don't know their stories. But we all have one. And that's why running is so powerful. We ALL have obstacles to overcome in life, and running a race proves to us that we can overcome! The definition of victory will be different for everyone. My victory was overcoming my mind and running the entire race. I'm not necessarily in a hurry to do a race like this again, but to know that I can makes me feel so powerful. It's a great feeling.

Best part of the race? When I saw TJ on the side lines at about 9.1 miles, and he ran with me across the finish line, hand in hand. That's something I will remember for the rest of my life. 

(By the way, this is not meant to say that I think I'm better than pregnant, older, or overweight people. Mad props to these people for running 9.3 mile races! My point is that I'm not better than them, but I'm also not lesser.)

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Regrowing Lettuce: A Letter To Mom

 Dear Mom Rieger,
You left a big hole in our world when you went to heaven a year ago. Dad still doesn't know what to do with himself. And we are left to navigate parenting without your valuable advice and encouragement. Life is not the same without you.

Since you left, you have gained three more beautiful grandbabies. I love to picture your face beaming as it would be to see them all together and hear about them growing. I can just hear you telling story after story about how your babies gave you just as many headaches and more.

You might not be here to give us advice and encouragement as we go through the trials of parenting and marriage, but we have already learned many lessons from you. Even though I didn't have the privilege of knowing you for very long, I think of you often and am challenged to live my life in a more positive way because of your example.

I want to be more like you in my marriage. You and Dad went through many trials, but you stuck with it and came out stronger in the end. Your love for each other was so apparent to everyone. YOU made Dad a better man.

I want to be more like you as a mother. I want to raise good children like you did. I want to give them the best that I can, and I want them to know that I am always just a phone call away.

I want to be more like you as a woman. Your mobility may have been taken away, but you kept your spirit. You were always positive, and you always remembered that no matter what, you were blessed. You must have lived in pain, but you never wanted us to know it, and you never focused on yourself.

You should know that you have left behind a legacy. You might not be here anymore, but we will never forget you, and your memory will live on in our lives and in the lives of our children. Our children will never know you, but they will grow up hearing about you. They will hear about how deeply you and Poppop loved each other and how you were such a caring mother and how you called yourself "blessed" in the midst of disability. And they, too, will want to be more like you.


You are the roots to our lettuce. We will keep on growing because of YOU. 


Wednesday, February 26, 2014

late 20's crisis

The biggest inner struggle of my life: jealousy. I thought I kicked my jealousy habit a while ago, but it has come back rearing its ugly green head lately. I'm not sure what exactly triggered it, but it is probably a combination of motherhood and late 20's-hood. I mean what the heck, when did I suddenly become 27 years old?! I never had much direction in life, so maybe that's how I ended up here without a job at 27 years old.  When I was in high school, I never knew what I wanted to do until senior year when I decided I wanted to be a civil rights lawyer. (Something I saw on Bridget Jones' Diary. Thanks a lot, Colin Firth!) My English teacher told me to go to Lebanon Valley College and major in English, so that's what I did. Then during college, I decided that studying cases was super boring, but I never decided on a new career path. I didn't decide to intern with InterVarsity until a week or so before graduation! Anyway, that's just a little bit of my story that illustrates my point-- that I lack determination.

I love being a stay at home mom, and I think it is very important for the development of my kid(s) that I stay home when they're young. So why do I feel like I'm inferior to other moms who work? I wish I had a meaningful job that I cared about. Would I actually want to be away from Blake 40+ hours per week? No. But still, it would be nice to be a person with a career, to be able to identify myself as working as a ______ at _______ doing _____. And it seems like other moms have worked it out well that they can work part time and still mostly stay home with their kids and get the best of both worlds. Why not me? Oh right, I have a B.A. in English and French. That's very in demand stuff...

The other part of this lack of career thing is the not making money part. It would be nice to feel productive by bringing home $___ paychecks. I wish we had more money and could buy a house. I wish we didn't have to wait to have another baby until TJ finds another job. I wish I could afford to buy clothes that fit me. I wish I could afford to run lots of local races. 

In general, I thought that by my late 20's, I would have life a little more put together. Established jobs for my husband and me, a house, a baby that sleeps through the night. I would write it off and say that's just not what the real world is like... BUT why does it seem like everyone else has it together?! I see the moms at church fitting nicely in their clothing. And they have nice hair. They don't seem like they're exhausted. They participate in discussions in Sunday school, and they volunteer in the nursery or elsewhere at church. But my clothes are either too tight or too big or have holes. My hair is most likely thrown in a pony tail. AND I'M EXHAUSTED! But how the hell can I be so exhausted when I don't feel like I accomplish anything ever?!! 

Am I a horrible person to admit that I feel jealous of these women at church? Well, that's how I feel. I have an adorable 12 month old that fusses a lot and likes to scream at night. It's EXHAUSTING. And my husband is on the lookout for a new job. That's SCARY. So I guess the conditions of my life right now are a breeding ground for this very ugly sin called envy. I'm not proud of it, but it feels nice to say it out loud. 

So what do you think? Do the others have it all together? Or do we all just have times where we feel like we don't measure up to others?

(By the way, I've been wanting to write this blog entry for quite a while now. But I lacked determination to open up my laptop.)